


Both Our Hearts Believe

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dyslexic Dean, Happy Ending, Imaginary Friends, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Non-Hunter Winchesters, Temporary Character Death, mental illness stigma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6563350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is Dean’s best friend and always has been. Unfortunately, no one else believes that Cas is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both Our Hearts Believe

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand thank you's to my awesome beta, [wingedwincest](http://wingedwincest.tumblr.com/) for helping me with this crazy undertaking and loving this story as much as I do.  
> There is also a playlist [here.](http://8tracks.com/elenajames/both-our-hearts-believe)

“Angels are watching over you.” 

 

That’s what Mommy had always said. She’d tuck Sammy into bed first and hold Dean up, so he could kiss his baby brother on the forehead before tucking Dean into bed, too. She kept tiny angel figurines on the little shelves above their beds, little boys and girls with rosy cheeks and fluffy wings.

 

“Angels are watching over you.” 

 

It’s what she said the night she tucked him into bed and he woke up to Sammy crying and Daddy screaming and smoke burning his eyes as Daddy tried to get them all out of the house. 

 

After the fire, while Daddy’s trying to explain that Mommy got hurt and had to go away, Dean wonders why the angels hadn’t been watching over her instead. He thinks about it every time he gets the urge to pray: when Sammy’s got colic and hasn’t stopped screaming for two days, or when money runs short because Dad can’t find a job, or the heat goes out and they have to sleep in one bed so they don’t freeze. 

 

After all, if angels couldn’t protect his mommy, what good are they going to do him now? 

 

* * *

 

“Hello.” The boy has blue eyes and dark hair, a startling contrast to how pale he is. He’s a little hard to look at - wavy, like heat coming off of metal, and too-bright, like sunlight after dark. Dean thinks he’s probably close to his own age, though he looks a little small for five.

 

“Hi,” Dean murmurs in response. He’s got a toy car in his lap, Sammy’s favorite. The wheel has popped off the back axle, and Dean is studiously trying to reattach it. A piece of plastic has chipped off, making it so the wheel won’t snap back on, and Dean wonders if Dad would help him super glue it when he gets home from the shop. 

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

“Trying to fix it. It belongs to my little brother.” 

 

“That is kind of you.” 

 

Dean looks up, studying the kid standing over him. “You talk funny.” 

 

The boy doesn’t look bothered by the comment. He just shrugs, eyes focused completely on Dean. “I talk just like you.” 

 

Setting the car down carefully, Dean makes sure the wheel is right below it before standing up. “You wanna play?” 

 

The boy is meticulous as they build little forts for Dean’s toy soldiers, cobbling them together with twigs and leaves and thick mud from the bank along the creek. He follows Dean’s lead as they line up soldiers, and Dean finds out he knows a lot about fighting and battle. 

 

“Dean! Supper!” Ann calls from the back step. She’s the neighbor-lady who watches them when Dad’s not home. Dean turns to the boy, intending to invite him in, but he’s gone from Dean’s side. He’s nowhere in sight as Dean turns around, eyes searching over the neighbors’ backyards. “Dean, come on! Your daddy’s gonna be home soon.” 

 

Feeling a little hurt that the boy just took off without saying goodbye, Dean picks up his soldiers and Sam’s car, tucking the loose wheel in his pocket as he heads inside. 

 

* * *

 

The boy comes back almost every day after that, playing with Dean in the backyard and making him wish Sammy was old enough to join them. His name is Castiel, Dean finds out, and he easily agrees to being called Cas when his full name proves tricky for Dean to say. 

 

Cas is quiet, for the most part, listening more than he talks, but the silence doesn’t bother Dean. Dean notices, too, that Cas always disappears when Ann calls him for supper or when Dad comes home, but he figures that Cas is just shy. 

 

Cas tans and Dean freckles in the hot summer sun, getting grass stains on their clothes and mud on their hands and faces. Dean’s never had a close friend before; the other kids on the block are either too old to want to play with him or too little to even walk. Having Cas in his life makes Dean far less lonely.

 

“You sure do spend a lot of time out in that backyard now, kiddo,” Dad remarks after a while. “You make a friend?” 

 

“Yeah!” Dean replies cheerfully, mouth full of PB&J. “His name is Castiel.” 

 

Dad looks at Ann questioningly, but she just shakes her head. “Who’re his parents?” 

 

“Dunno. He said he doesn’t have a last name.” 

 

“Well, why don’t you invite him for supper sometime?” 

 

Dean shrugs, kicking his heels against the legs of his chair. “He doesn’t like grown ups, I think. He always runs away when Ann comes outside.” 

 

Dad doesn’t ask any more questions after that, and Dean forgets all about it until Cas disappears mid-game one afternoon. One second he’s there, and the next he’s gone. Sure enough, when Dean turns around, Dad and Ann are standing in the doorway, watching curiously. 

 

Cas doesn’t come back for a long time after that. Dean gets moody and withdrawn before he finally breaks down. “You scared him Daddy! He was my best friend, and you scared him away!” he sobs, little fists pounding against his father’s chest.

 

Dad just holds him through the tears, and wonders how the hell you explain imaginary friends to a five year old. 

 

“Buddy,” he starts, but Dean starts up with a fresh bout of tears. As the little boy finally relaxes into his father’s arms, John decides that it’s a conversation that can wait for another day. 

 

* * *

  
  


“Where are your mom and dad?” Dean questions one day. 

 

“I do not have a mom. My dad is in heaven.” Cas answers calmly, seemingly unaffected. 

 

“My mommy’s in heaven, too. At least, that’s what Daddy says.” 

 

Cas looks up then, blue eyes focused intently on Dean. “I am sorry. You must miss her.” 

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, dropping his eyes, not wanting Cas to see him cry. 

 

“You will see her again, someday.” It seems like a strange thing to say, but Dean feels a little better for Cas’ attempt to comfort him. 

 

“Thanks, Cas. You, you do have a home, right?” 

 

Cas smiles then, gummy and bright. “Of course I do. Come, we need more mud from the creek.” 

 

Dean never thinks to question it further. After all, Cas is his best friend. He wouldn’t lie to him.

 

* * *

 

The road seems to go on forever. Looking out the window is boring; nothing but grass and trees rolling by as Dad drives down the highway. Sammy’s sleeping in the back, covered up with the spare blanket in his carseat. 

 

Dean’s got a few books and toys, but trying to read makes his head hurt and his tummy ache. He bundles himself up in Dad’s big leather coat and plays with a few of his army men in his lap. The wrinkles of the jacket look enough like mountains and sand dunes for them to hide behind, making it easy for Dean’s imagination to fill in the rest.

 

“Shh, kiddo,” Dad scolds when Dean gets a little too loud with his sound effects. “Don’t wake up Sammy, okay? We’re almost there.” 

 

_ There _ is the new house Dad has bought. They’d been living in an apartment after the fire until the insurance - whatever that was - had sent them a check. The new house isn’t big and nice like their old house was, but with just the three of them, it’s big enough. 

 

One of Dad’s coworkers was following behind them in a big truck, the last of their stuff loaded in the back. A few more of his friends are waiting for them at the house, helping to carry things inside. One of the younger guys stays with Dean and Sammy, keeping the little boys entertained and out from underfoot. 

 

Dean’s not hard to keep in line. He sits on the curb with his toys, quietly playing. He hadn’t wanted to move to this new house, which is far away from their old one. 

 

“But I won’t get to play with Cas anymore, Daddy,” he’d said tearfully when his father had broken the news. 

 

Cradling the little boy close, Dad had rubbed his back. “Deano, I told you. Cas isn’t real, kiddo. He’s your friend and only yours, and he’ll be there with you, okay?” 

 

There was no getting Dean to believe it, though. Cas had a home and someone who took care of him, and now he was on the opposite side of the state from Dean, and Daddy wouldn’t be taking Dean to see him because he didn’t even think Cas was  _ real _ . 

 

Later that night, Dean’s tossing and turning in his bed, trying to sleep in a strange house with the creaky tree outside the window and the funny noises in the pipes. He thinks about sneaking down the hallway and crawling in with Sammy, but Daddy wanted him to be a big boy and sleep in his own room. 

 

“Dean?” The bed dips behind him as Cas speaks. 

 

“Cas? How did you get here?” Dean tries to keep his voice down, but it’s hard to bury his surprise and excitement at seeing Cas. “I never thought I’d see you again!” 

 

“I followed you, of course. Can I sleep here?” 

 

Scooting over, Dean makes room for Cas in the bed, the blanket just big enough to cover both little boys. 

 

“Cas. . . are you real? Daddy says you’re not.” 

 

“Well. I am real to you, right?” 

 

A strange question, like a lot of the strange questions Cas has asked. “Yeah?” 

 

“Isn’t that good enough?” 

 

Cas is warm and solid beside him, breath puffing over Dean’s cheek and stirring his hair. For the first time since they moved into the new house, Dean feels safe. “Yeah, Cas. It is.” 

 

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t like the 4th grade. His classmates are loud and make the teacher mad a lot. He’d rather be at home playing with Sam or working on cars with Dad at the shop instead of listening to Mrs. Patterson lecture Billy about being disrespectful again. 

 

Recess is a nice break from sitting at his desk all day. Dean’s made a few friends, like Jo and Ash and Caleb. They’re not as much fun or as interesting as Cas, but it’s nice to have friends at school when Cas can’t be there. They swing and play kickball or sometimes just chase each other in a widespread game of freeze tag. It helps burn off some of the jittery-ness in his legs and head; he always focuses better after getting to run around. 

 

His IEP class is after lunch. Dad had been a little upset and worried when they discovered Dean is dyslexic, but he gets good grades if given enough time. He’s lucky enough to go to a school that has a program for him, unlike the smaller school he would’ve gone to before the move. Miss Amy, his teacher, has a lot of patience and a knack for calming him down when he gets frustrated with the scrambled words and numbers on the page. He can’t read as fast as Sammy, but he’s good at math, and that’s good enough for him. 

 

Sometimes Cas comes to visit when he’s the only one around, like when Miss Amy has to take someone to the office because they’re sick. He reads to Dean while he can, his clear enunciation and steady voice soothing; it always helps Dean get his work done faster.

 

“Why don’t you stay?” Dean ventures, just once. Only once. 

 

Cas just gives him a sad smile and says, “I want to, Dean. But I can’t.” 

 

It makes Dean’s chest hurt, but he doesn’t ask again. Part of him knew what Cas would say. Cas seems to feel bad about it, and after that he’ll sometimes follow Dean home after school, sitting on the ledge of his window when Dean makes it up to his room. It’s nice, having someone to talk to his age; not that he doesn’t love Sam, but he’s still too little to really play with and talk to.

 

Cas tends to ask a lot of questions, and sometimes they’re strange, but Dean’s more than happy to answer. They’re talking about music, Cas trying to suss out the difference between classic rock, rock ‘n’ roll, and rock when Dad clears his throat in the door. Cas vanishes and Dean winces, sitting up to look his father in the eye.

 

“Who’re you talking to, Deano?” 

 

“...Cas,” Dean admits softly, face slowly turning red. John just sighs tiredly, forehead crinkling the way it does when he’s worried. 

 

“Dean. We’ve talked about this. Cas isn’t real, bud, and you’re too old for imaginary friends.” 

 

“I know, Dad.” Dean stares at the ceiling as John walks away. Next time, he’ll keep it to himself.

 

* * *

 

Middle school is hard. Caleb’s turned into a bully and Ash keeps sneaking off with the high schoolers to smoke pot. Dean still has Jo, and she’s fun to hang out with, but trying to adjust to a new school and new friends frustrates him.

 

The lady in the IEP room - Ms. Gunther - isn’t as nice or as patient as Miss Amy. Dean has trouble studying and staying caught up, and sometimes he can’t sleep at night because he’s worried about school work.

 

Sam helps when he can, but the stuff Dean’s doing in 7th grade is too hard for a 4th grader - even for a smart boy like Sam. 

 

“We’ll talk to your teachers, kiddo,” Dad promises one night. He’d come home to find Sam nowhere in sight and Dean crying angry tears as he reworked the same problem he’d been trying to do all night. Dad slides into the chair next to him, curling an arm around Dean and just holding him until the tears stop coming. 

 

It takes a while, but Dad helps him through the last of the math. Dean starts in on his English while Dad makes dinner. Sam fills the silence as they eat, aware that something is wrong but not sure how to handle it. Dad gives the kid a hug before he heads upstairs, then turns to pull Dean into one of his own. 

 

“I’m proud of you, son. You can always ask for help, okay?” 

 

“I know. Thanks, Dad.” 

 

Cas is waiting upstairs with another hug, and he takes Dean’s reading assignment, settling in with the book in hand. Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of listening to Cas read to him, no matter what the material is, but their book this week - bizarrely titled  _ I am the Cheese _ \- rubs Dean the wrong way. Cas winds up explaining the point of the narrative to him before they finish, and they complete the next few assignments related to the book together.

 

True to his word, Dad’s in the principal's office the next day. They go over Dean’s IEP together, and by the end of the week, Dean’s caught up and feeling a lot better. It helps that Cas spends every night with him, going over his writing assignments and reading Dean to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Dean is 15 and tired. Dad’s always busy and Nancy the babysitter is off visiting her new grandchild. That means Dean’s responsible for both himself and Sam. Every day, Dean walks from the high school five blocks down to the elementary, where Miss Stacy keeps Sam waiting until Dean gets there. They walk home together, Sam’s hand in his and Dean smiling at his little brother’s exuberance despite his own exhaustion. Sam babbles about friends and grades and the upcoming field trip to a farm just outside of town. 

 

“Please, can I go, Dean? Pleeeaaase?” 

 

Ruffling his brother’s hair as Sammy scoots past Dean and through the open door, Dean says, “I’m sure you can kiddo. Miss Stacy said you had a permission slip, right? Make sure you hang it on the fridge so Dad knows he needs to sign it.” 

 

It takes a little bit to settle Sam in, but he dives right into his homework once Dean has him set up at the table. Dad gets home at four thirty now, since he’s opening at the garage, so they only have an hour and a half to kill until he’s home. 

 

Dean starts some spaghetti in a pot, throwing in some salt because the shows he’s seen said you should; neither he nor Sam has ever noticed a difference. There’s a package of hamburger meat in the fridge, still a little frozen in the middle, but Dean manages to get it chopped apart with a spatula. He lets Sam pick out the sauce, wrinkling his nose when Sammy can’t see, but dumps the chunky vegetable sauce over the hamburger anyway. 

 

There’s a plate for Dean and a plate for Sam, and the rest gets covered for Dad when he gets home. Dean’s only got a little homework to do, some science and geography; he got the rest of it done during his IEP time. Dad gives him a hug when he gets home, thanking him for making supper and taking care of Sam. 

 

“You doing okay, kid? You look beat,” Dad says as he settles in at the table. 

 

“Just busy. Lot goin’ on.” 

 

“Yeah,” John says on a soft sigh. “I know, you’ve been doing a lot around here, and I’m proud of you for doing such a good job, Dean. Nancy will be back on Friday, though. She called and her daughter’s going to come home for a while with the baby, so she’ll be over to look after Sam until I get home.” 

 

“Okay, Dad.” Finishing up his homework, Dean gives Dad a tired smile when the older man takes over on cleanup. He’s grateful to be able to head upstairs, dropping his book bag by the door and flopping down on the bed. 

 

“Hello, Dean.” 

 

Groaning at the familiar voice, Dean’s tempted to throw his pillow at the other boy. Instead, he drags it over his head. “Go ‘way, Cas. M’tired.” He startles when a weight lands beside him on the bed. Peeking out from under the pillow, Dean finds himself looking directly into bright, blue eyes. 

 

“I wish to be in your company. Is this permissible?”

 

Dean spares a moment to wonder if all imaginary friends are oblivious assholes, or if he’s just lucky. “Yeah, fine, just. Stay on your side of the bed, okay? And don’t hog the covers.” 

 

It doesn’t take long for Dean to fall asleep. He only wakes when someone shifts him, pulling at his shoes and he kicks out weakly. “Cas, knock it off. Lemme sleep.” 

 

“Dean.” Dad’s voice, and Dean goes from tired to wide awake, heart hammering in his chest. He rolls over, not able to look his dad in the face as he toes off his sneakers. Tension fills the room between them, and Dean’s not sure what Dad’s gonna say; he’d never really approved of Cas, not even when it was “acceptable” for him to have an imaginary friend. 

 

In the end, he just whispers goodnight, and leaves. The door clicking shut behind him sounds so final it almost makes Dean cry. Cas arms wrap  around him as soon as Dad is gone, but Dean holds himself still until the other boy leaves. 

 

* * *

 

Girls are pretty. Long hair, soft skin, gently curving bodies and lips. Dean’s dated a couple girls here and there; hell, even he and Jo gave it a whirl before deciding they were better off as friends.

 

It turns out that Dean thinks boys are pretty, too. When Lisa breaks up with him, he finds himself being asked to the homecoming dance by one of the football players. Benny’s handsome, really. He’s got pretty blue eyes and nice smile, and he talks with a smooth southern drawl that Dean finds more attractive than he cares to admit.

 

Telling Sam and Dad that his date is, in fact, a boy and that said boy will be coming to pick him up instead of the other way around proves to be nerve wracking, to say the least. He means to sit them down at some point so they can have a serious discussion. What he ends up doing instead is blurting it out over supper.

 

“Come again?” Dad asks, blinking in confusion with his fork halfway to his mouth. Sam looks smug, the little shit, and Dean shoots him a dirty look before turning back to their father.

 

“My date for the dance. He’s - well. He’s a he. His name’s Benny. You know, Lafitte?”

 

“Yeah, I know who Benny Lafitte is, Dean. I just didn’t know he was your type.”

 

Dean can’t quite stop himself from quipping, “He’s hot. Hot’s my type.” He can feel his cheeks heat as Dad and Sam laugh out loud.

 

“As long as he treats you right, kid. That’s all that matters, right Sammy?”

 

Sam just shrugs and grins. “I knew already. I just thought you’d wanna tell Dad yourself.”

 

“Little shit,” Dean mumbles, shoving another bite of steak into his mouth to hide his grin.

 

Benny picks him up on Saturday after the game, just as promised. He drives an ancient Chevy truck, a rumbling thing that could give the Impala a run for her money. Dad doesn’t let Sam tease him much before they go, but insists on getting a picture of them even though they’re just wearing jeans and tee shirts.

 

“Just get home before curfew, boys. I don’t need the sheriff getting me out of bed because you two stayed out too late.”

 

A few people make comments here and there while they’re at the dance, but Benny and Dean are popular enough together that their combined friends keep the worst of the naysaying at bay. Ash is playing DJ, bouncing between genres so fast that nobody knows just what’s going to be next.

 

Benny’s easy to talk to, even when he sweet talks Dean into a slow dance. They discuss school and classmates, and when Ash throws on some metal, the conversation delves into music. Benny’s more of a country boy while Dean prefers rock, but they’re able to bond over the classics. When it’s all said and done, Benny leaves Dean on his front porch with a quick peck on the lips and a soft goodnight.

 

Cas listens to it all with a smile, and Dean can’t find it in himself to object when the other boy leans over to press their mouths together. 

 

* * *

 

Benny takes it well when Dean turns him down for a second date. Like Jo, Benny’s a good friend, and they hang out when Benny doesn’t have practice - or when Dean isn’t with Cas. 

 

He and Cas haven’t gone much beyond kissing, and Dean’s fine with that. A part of him wants more, but so far taking care of things himself has been good enough. 

 

Cas takes the initiative, rolling on top of Dean as they make out. Dad’s at work and Sam’s at a friend’s, which makes them both a little brave. Dean manages to get their shirts off, but Cas pins him firmly to the bed after that, grinding them together. He looks at Dean like he’s a miracle, eyes wide and focused firmly on Dean. It should make Dean to blush; instead, he clings tighter to Cas’ arms, burying his face against the other boy’s chest as he comes, stuttery cry breathing damp into the fabric of Cas’ shirt. 

 

Breathless and trembling, Dean shivers when he feels Cas come, his dick pulsing alongside Dean’s. They collapse down onto the bed, Cas dragging Dean into his arms so Dean’s head rests on his chest. Dean will never be able to fathom how people believe Cas isn’t real when Dean can hear the pounding of his heart beneath his ear.

 

* * *

 

Dean hasn’t slipped in almost a year. He never talks about Cas to Dad or Sam, and covers up their conversations with music or TV. It figures all that hard work would go to waste because of one nosy neighbor. 

 

The Watlands had moved in about six months ago, an older couple whose grandkids had been to visit twice since then. They were bratty little things, so much so that even Sam avoided them like the plague, and their grandparents weren’t much better. Olive was constantly making remarks about John raising two boys alone, and how Sam and Dean needed “a motherly figure” in their lives. Dan seemed to be in competition instead, landscaping the yard and constantly washing his shiny red coupe in the driveway. 

 

“They’re nuts,” Dad muttered, just once before shooting Dean and Sam a look and making the boys swear to never breathe a word about it. 

 

Sam goes off to summer camp toward the middle of June and Dad’s working overtime, trying to expand the garage and its business so they can bring more money in. Dean mows lawns and pulls weeds for pocket money, saving some for Dad and Sam when it turns out he’s making more than he really needs to spend. 

 

Of course, that means he’s in charge of mowing their lawn, too, and Dad just smiles when Dean grumbles about his hourly rate. Cas always appears when Dad leaves for work, and they manage to talk when Dean’s done mowing. There are weeds to be pulled out of the flower beds - Sam had planted petunias in the abandoned plots, goodness only knows why - and Dean finds himself weeding the cracks in the sidewalk as well once he’s settled into the rhythm of work. 

 

“You could help me out here, man,” Dean grumbles good naturedly. To his surprise, Cas pulls on a pair of gardening gloves, dropping down to the grass beside Dean, stealing a kiss before he starts yanking dandelions from between the concrete slabs.

 

Time passes a lot faster with Cas there, speaking calmly about the importance of bees to the modern world after Dean bats one away from his face. 

 

“Most pollination is done by bees, Dean. The world would starve without them.” 

 

“Then why do they need stingers, huh? If they’re just-” 

 

“Dean!” Olive’s screechy voice tears across the lawn, making Dean wince and Cas vanish. “Who in Lord’s name are you talking to, young man?” 

 

“Just talking to the bees, ma’am.” Dean grins when she makes a huffy sound and heads back indoors. He learns to regret his smartass answer later, when Dad sits him down and asks him if he was seriously talking to a bee, and informs him he has an appointment with a psychiatrist next week.

 

* * *

 

The waiting room is full of families. Dean’s young enough to still be seeing a child psychiatrist, but he certainly doesn’t feel it. The rest of the kids here are Sam’s age or younger; half of them are sullen, staring off into space like they’re a world away from here. The others are hyper; one kid screaming is at the top of his lungs and kicking at his father when he and his parents are called back. 

 

Dean drops his gaze to the floor. It’s stained with what looks like Kool-Aid, ugly purple against the beige rug. Who the hell puts beige in a room meant to hold a bunch of kids, anyway? Idiots. 

 

The doctor - Dr. Johnson - is old. He smells faintly of tobacco and strongly of peppermint, like he thinks he can drown out the stench of ash with something sweet. Dean’s sure he hates him the first time he shakes the man’s squishy hand. 

 

None of the appointments are pleasant, from the minute they walk into that room full of strangers to the moment Dean walks out to his father and brother’s anxious faces. He hates talking about Mom and the fire, moving and lost friends, and the whole host of shit that’s happened in his life. Dean’s never talked to Sam or Dad this much about anything. He doesn’t like being made to talk about it to a stranger, but Dad’s paying a lot of money for this and Dean feels guilty every time a session goes by without him speaking.

 

Maladaptive coping, the doctor calls it, after a while. Dean doesn’t know what that means, but he’s pretty sure he copes just fine, and the doc can just shut up about “childhood trauma.” 

 

Cas doesn’t say much the nights Dean comes home tired and pissed off. Sometimes he leaves and other times he stays, sleeping in Dean’s bed and holding him close to murmur soft words of comfort into Dean’s ear until he falls asleep. 

 

Two years go by, and it’s only when Dean brings up Cas by mistake that the doc studies him hard, eyes calculating. Dean winds up going through a whole new battery of questions and observations, until Dr. Johnson comes up with an entirely different diagnosis: schizophrenia.

 

* * *

 

Despite battling with the side effects of his new medication and having to work twice as hard as his classmates, Dean makes it to graduation. He thinks his dad just might cry when he sees that he’s listed “with honors.” 

 

The hats they have to wear feels stupid, tassel bumping against his cheek every time he turns his head, but Dean’s flying as high as his classmates. They’re a chattering, disorganized mass until their advisor gets them in order, sending them out while the school band strikes up “Pomp and Circumstance.” 

 

Ash, to everyone and no one’s surprise, is valedictorian. He gives the shortest speech the school’s ever seen, and throws the school board a two-fingered salute before ambling offstage, leaving the stunned members of the board blinking in his wake.

 

Jitters don’t hit Dean until he’s two people from being called, and the only kid behind him has to nudge him forward to get him started across the stage. A few awkward handshakes and nearly forgetting to move his tassel from one side to the other, then Dean’s stumbling back to his seat, diploma in hand. 

 

Once the superintendent presents them to the auditorium, Dean and his classmates head for the door. Dad and Sam are waiting at the edge of the crowd, yanking Dean into a bone-crushing hug as soon as he’s within reach. 

 

“God, I’m so proud of you, boy. I’m so goddamn proud.” Dad’s tearing up, against all odds, and Dean finds himself following suit. Sam just grins at his normally-stoic father and brother, patting them both on the back and ignoring their sniffling. 

 

Further back, standing just alongside the building next to the auditorium is Cas. He’s smiling, bright and crinkle-eyed. He waves a little at Dean before disappearing, and Dean tears up again when he realizes Cas actually came to see him graduate. 

 

* * *

 

“You need to take your meds, Dean.” 

 

“Like hell. ‘Doctor’ Johnson my ass. The guy’s a quack, Dad, and I’m too old be to seeing him anyway.” Dean shoves the pill bottle away from him. The meds make him dizzy and anxious, and he can’t sleep when he takes them. “I’m  _ fine _ .” 

 

“You aren’t  _ fine _ , Dean. Dr. Johnson wouldn’t’ve prescribed you medication if you were  _ fine _ .” 

 

“Oh, so you think I’m crazy, too, huh? Is that it? Worried I’m gonna snap someday?” He sounds angry, but Dean is mostly hurt. Everyone’s been tip-toeing around him since the first time the doctor had mentioned the word “anti-psychotics,” and there’s no denying that it’s put Dean on edge. 

 

“Dean-” 

 

“No. I’m not going to take them anymore, so you can just forget it. I’m not dangerous, I’m not crazy, and I’m not taking the fucking pills. Just save the lecture and save the spare cash, huh? Don’t waste it on shit I don’t need.” 

 

Dropping the pills in the garbage on his way out of the kitchen just to prove his point, Dean pounds upstairs and locks the door behind him once he’s in his room. Of course, Cas is waiting there, perched on his windowsill, and Dean’s partially gratified to see the guy looks a little guilty. 

 

“I am sorry, Dean. I seem to be causing you strife. Would - would you prefer I not return?” 

 

And yeah, as much as Dean hates the way people side-eye him now, like he’s nothing more than a ticking time bomb, he can’t deny the way the thought of Cas leaving and never coming back twists him up inside. Cas has been his only constant over the years, and - real or not - Dean’s not willing to give him up. Not yet.

 

“No, Cas, please. Don’t leave,” Dean breathes, not intending to sound even half as desperate as he does. A blush creeps across his cheeks, but Cas doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he slides off the windowsill and steps closer, wrapping Dean in a tight hug. 

 

For a moment, just a moment, Dean allows himself to bask in the contact before pulling away from Cas’ hold. “Wanna read?” 

 

Cas smiles, that little quirk-lip smile that Dean’s grown fond of. His battered copy of  _ The Two Towers _ waits for them on the bedside table, a generic bookmark stuck between the pages, given to him by the spindly librarian when he’d dug a dollar out of his bag to buy all four of the novels from their sale bin. The other boy opens it carefully, careful of the cracked spine, and Cas has a bizarre knack for Elvish, tongue twisting effortlessly around words Dean would never be able to pronounce on his own.

 

Together, they sprawl out on Dean’s bed, Cas propped up against the headboard while Dean’s curled up alongside him, head resting along Cas’ thigh. He closes his eyes and loses himself in Cas’ deepening voice, letting it paint the landscape of Middle Earth across his mind. 

 

They’re lucky enough to reach the end of a part when the sound of Sam’s footsteps come thudding up the stairs. Cas slides the bookmark in place and gently sets the book down on the bedside before he disappears. Sam knocks, twisting at the locked knob before Dean can haul himself out of bed. 

 

“What do you want, squirt?” 

 

“Wanted to make sure you were okay.” Fourteen, and Sam’s all puppy dog eyes and wavy hair, concern painting his face. Dean’s never been able to stay mad when Sam gives him the look he’s giving him right now. 

 

“I’m alright, Sammy. You wanna come in?” 

 

Sam takes Cas’ spot, curling up along Dean’s side. They lay in quiet for a while, Dean half-humming Metallica as he and Sam just breathe. 

 

“I don’t want you to take the pills either, Dean. I was reading about schizophrenia and - and whatever or whoever Cas is, that’s not it,” Sam finally says, quiet and soft as he wraps one skinny finger up in the cord of Dean’s necklace. 

 

“Thanks for the vote, kiddo. We’ll have to see, though. Dunno if I’ve got much choice if Dad decides to stick to his guns.” Dean chokes up a little, though, in the face of Sam’s defense. He knows his little brother worries just as much - or maybe even more - than Dad does about Dean and the existence of Cas. 

 

“They can’t forcibly medicate you,” Sam grumbles stubbornly. “You’re not a danger to yourself or others, and you’re 18, you have the right to refuse treatment.” 

 

For the first time in a long time, Dean laughs out loud. He ruffles Sam’s hair even though it draws a noise of protest from the younger boy. 

 

“That’s my law whiz. Gonna wipe the floor with some hotshots someday, huh?” 

 

“Whatever.” Sam tries to play it off, but Dean can see the dimple in his brother’s cheek. Sam had confessed not long after Dean’s graduation that he wanted to go to law school, make some good money to help Dad and Dean out so they wouldn’t have to work so hard just to stay afloat. 

 

“How mad is Dad?” Dean asks after a while. 

 

“Only kinda. You know how he is, more worried than pissed, but he’s not gonna say it.” 

 

“Pft, yeah. Figures. What do you want for supper?” 

 

“Dad said he was gonna make tuna casserole.”

 

“Right. So, you wanna order the pizza or shall I? I’ve got a little extra money.” 

 

Sam laughs then, bright and happy, and Dean grins. They order the pizza before they head downstairs, arriving in the kitchen just in time to find their dad trying to salvage ruined noodles. He sighs in defeat, dumping the contents of the pot out when Sam tells him about the pizza, and setting the pan in the sink to soak. Dad sends Sam to the door to pay when the doorbell rings, and takes the opportunity to pull Dean in for a quick hug.

 

“I’m sorry, son. I just - I’m doin’ what I can, you know? I want to help.” 

 

Dean clings tight, surprised by the wave of emotion that rolls over him. “I know, Dad. But I’m okay, I promise.” 

 

“Okay,” John murmurs, a little choked sounding and Dean has to hold back his own tears. “You don’t have to take the pills. And we’ll find another psychiatrist, alright? Just. . . just to be sure.” 

 

“Okay, Dad. Okay.” 

 

* * *

 

Dr. Bryson - “Call me, Jenny” - reminds Dean of Miss Amy from grade school. Maybe that’s why he likes her so much. Or maybe it’s because she treats him like a person instead of a particularly interesting science experiment. 

 

“So, Dean. You said you’re not taking your pills. Can I ask why?” No hint of a scold in her tone, and Dean finds himself relaxing. 

 

“I don’t need them. I don’t see things or talk to people who aren’t there or any of that. I’m not schizophrenic, and even if I was, they make me feel like shit.” 

 

She smiles, amused rather than offended, and makes a quick note on the pad resting in her lap. “You say you don’t see things, but Dr. Johnson noted in your chart that you had a friend - Castiel? - that no one else could see or hear.” 

 

Dean takes it for the chance it is, even though the lie leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He snorts, rolling his eyes and purposefully resting his hands on his lap. Open stance, honesty, and a wry smile for good measure. “Yeah, Cas. He was my imaginary friend when I was a kid, you know? I only brought him up because the doc wanted to know about my childhood, and Cas was a part of that.” 

 

Jennifer nods and hmms, making another note. Dean lies his way out of the diagnosis and the meds long before the money for his therapy runs out. He talks Dad into allowing him to stop the appointments and is careful to the point of paranoia about not letting anyone see him talk to or interact with Cas. 

 

The money that would’ve gone towards appointments and pills goes into an account for Sammy’s college fund instead. 

 

* * *

 

Cas is stubborn. He insists that God is real, and that angels are, too. Dean hasn’t believed in God or Heaven or angels in a long time, and sometimes Cas’ holier-than-thou attitude about it pisses him off. 

 

“What kind of God would allow half the shit that goes on every day to even happen, Cas? An all-loving Father that just lets people suffer and hurt and die? Sounds like bullshit to me.” 

 

“You obviously do not understand,” Cas grits. It’s the first time Dean’s ever seen his friend angry.

 

Cas is gone in the blink of an eye, and he stays gone for days. Dean waits and waits, wondering if Cas is finally gone for good, if he finally fucked up enough to drive his closest friend away. 

 

The second week goes by, and Dean sneaks out to a party to get properly smashed, hoping alcohol can drown out the ache of Cas’ absence. He comes back at 3 a.m. to a pissed off father, a worried little brother, and an empty bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, Dean stares at the ceiling even as the room tilts dizzily, thoughts racing through his head. 

 

What if Cas isn’t real? What if he never has been, and he’s actually just some fucked up hallucination that his brain created? 

 

“Cas,” Dean croaks, surprised to find he’s crying. “Cas, please. Come back. I’m sorry, man, I-” 

 

“Hello, Dean.” 

 

Dean breaks at the familiar words, rolling over on his belly and sobbing out the terror and anxiety that had spiralled out of his control. Warm hands land on his back, rubbing slow, soothing circles over his skin until his wretched sounds subside. He half expects to look up to find Dad or Sammy sitting beside him, wearing that look they get when he’s been talking to someone who isn’t there. What he finds instead is Cas, eyes sparkling with tears of his own. 

 

Yanking him down, Dean holds Cas close, clinging to the other man so hard his hands hurt. 

 

“You smell like alcohol,” Cas observes dryly, one hand stroking over Dean’s chest absently.. 

 

“Yeah, and Dad ‘n’ Sammy are gonna kick my ass in the morning for it.” 

 

“I am sorry I left the way I did, Dean. You were expressing an opinion and I overreacted.” 

 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly Mr. Nice Guy, either. I’m sorry, Cas. Just . . . don’t leave me like that again, huh?” 

 

“I promise. Now sleep. You are going to have quite the headache in the morning, I imagine.” 

 

Cas is gone when he wakes up, but Dad and Sam are waiting for Dean at the kitchen table. He gets a lecture about communication and responsibility, all while his mouth feels like it’s cotton and his head pounds like a drumbeat. 

 

“All you needed to do was call, Dean. You might be old enough to drink, but you’re always going to be my kid, and I’m going to worry, alright?” 

 

“I know, Dad. I swear, next time I’ll call or keep my phone on.” 

 

“Good enough. Sam, get your brother some painkillers, huh? He looks like death warmed over.” 

 

“Scared me, Dean,” is all Sam has to say once Dad heads outside to tinker with the car. He wraps his arms tight around Dean, and the closeness only highlights how much Sam’s grown in the last couple years. 

 

“Sorry, Sammy. I’m okay though, promise.” Dean just holds his brother close, wondering if this’ll be one of the last times he’ll hug Sam when the kid is still shorter than he is. 

 

* * *

 

Sam’s senior year is hectic. Dean helps his brother as best as he can, doing extra housework or helping him search for scholarships. They throw a party when Sam gets his acceptance letter from Stanford, his first-choice school. They throw another, smaller one when Sam finds out he’s valedictorian. 

 

As graduation creeps closer, Dean spends his nights soothing some of Sammy’s panic, letting the kid read and re-read every draft of his graduation speech to him until Dean’s sure he’s got it memorized as well.

 

Sam’s a little jittery as they get dressed and ready to head to the auditorium. Dad has to save his graduation cap from being crushed, handing in to Dean in the back seat for safekeeping. Dean sends Dad inside to grab them seats, pulling Sam off to the side of the building away from prying eyes. 

 

“You’re gonna be okay, little brother. How many times did we rehearse your speech?” 

 

“I know, Dean. But what if I mess up or go blank or -” 

 

“Hey,” Dean says firmly, tugging his brother into a hug. “You got this. Just don’t psych yourself out, alright? Pretend the audience is in their underwear or something.” 

 

They separate just in time for Dean to see Sam’s nose wrinkle in disgust at the thought. 

 

“Gross, man.” 

 

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for being such a genius, geekboy. Now come on, I don’t want Mrs. Whipple to think I’m corrupting her star pupil.” 

 

Dean grins like an idiot all the way through Sam’s speech, and he and Dad whoop and holler when the flock of caps get tossed in the air. And if anyone sees Dean wipe away a stray tear, no one says a thing.  
  


* * *

 

 

Dean’s shoulder deep in a minivan, trying to reach the last damn sparkplug that Dad swears he should be able to get to without pulling the whole front end apart. Metal’s digging into his wrist and bicep, but eventually the stupid thing comes loose. He swaps out the plug and the last wire, grinning in satisfaction when the old van rumbles to life as he turns the key. 

 

“Good job, boy,” Art says as Dean wipes his hands. “I didn’t think that old beast would ever run again. You got your daddy’s touch, that’s for darn sure.” 

 

Dean smiles and thanks him, ducking his head, so Art can’t see his cheeks turn pink while he picks up the scattered tools and old spark plug wires. Business had been good lately, especially once word got out that John Winchester’s son was every bit the mechanic his father was - and a few of the old boys who still toodled around in their “classics” swore Dean was better. Dean smiles at Mrs. Robinson - the owner of said “old beast” - as she pays for her repairs. He heads toward the office, intending to take his lunch break when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Dean slides out the side door before he picks up, not wanting to lose the call to the shitty reception inside the metal building. 

 

“Dean!” Sam says loudly, causing his brother to jerk the phone away from his ear and dial the volume back. He’s been like an overexcited puppy since he got out to California, calling Dean and Dad regularly to give them updates. 

 

“Sammy boy. How’s it goin’?” Dean listens with a grin on his face as his little brother rambles. He’s made a few friends, gotten an A on his first big exam, and has a job interview on Thursday. Cas shows up just before Dean hangs up, making Sam swear to be careful before letting his brother off the line. 

 

“Hello, Dean.” 

 

“Hey, Cas. How’s it goin’, man?” Peeking around the corner to make sure none of the other guys are loitering close enough to overhear, Dean tugs his friend into an embrace, briefly pressing their mouths together. Cas has been gone a week, off on another one of the mysterious errands he’s had to do periodically over the last few years. Dean gets lonely in the evenings when Cas isn’t around, especially now that Sam’s gone off to college. 

 

“I am well, Dean,” Cas replies with a fond smile, pecking him on the cheek as he pulls away. “I take it Sam is flourishing?” 

 

“You got that right. Kid talks a mile a minute every time he calls.” His face hurts from grinning, happiness lightening his chest with the knowledge that Sam is safe and happy and living his dream. 

 

“Good. I shall see you at home, Dean. Your father is going to be looking for you shortly.” 

 

Cas disappears as Dean heads inside. Sure enough, Dad’s got a motor he wants help tearing apart, a special favor for a friend of his who wants to know if the old Ford it’s in can be saved or not. 

 

Dean falls into bed that night pleasantly sore and tired. A warm body slides in behind him, and sleep drags him down before Cas is even settled in the bed. 

 

* * *

 

It’s like being in a horror movie. Everything’s moving in slow motion and Dean’s body feels like he’s weighed down with lead. His brain had fuzzed out as soon as he heard the words “brain damage.” 

 

Sam’s been in an accident. Drunk driver. That’s the short story. The long story seems to be that he has severe internal injuries, and brain damage so extensive the doctors don’t think it’s likely he’ll ever wake up. Even if he does, he’ll never be the same, and the damage to his spinal cord could mean he’ll be paralysed as well. 

 

Dean wants to throw up. Or scream. Or do anything besides stand here with what feels like a rhino sitting on his chest and the world spinning around him like a carousel. Dad’s talking in a tight voice to the doctor, so involved that he doesn’t notice Dean walking away until it’s too late. 

 

It’s a stupid idea. It will never work because it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus bullshit like everything else on those stupid sites that Ash had showed him. At least, that’s what Dean thinks until he’s standing at a crossroad, staring at some red-eyed broad with a predator’s smile. 

 

“What can I do for you, handsome?” He can smell the stink of rotten eggs on her breath, sulfur and smoke and ash. For the second time, he wants to vomit, but he manages to hold himself together.

 

“My brother,” he manages to rasp. “He’s - he’s gonna die. I can’t lose him.” 

 

“Mm, that’s it? I’m pretty sure I can handle that. But it’s gonna cost you.” 

 

“Yeah,” Dean laughs bitterly. “Just my soul.” 

 

“Oh, come on now, sugar. It’s not that bad a deal. One happy, healthy little brother in exchange for one soul. I mean, you could just let him die.” 

 

She insists on sealing the deal with a kiss, and she tastes worse than she smells - death and rot seeping into Dean’s mouth even though he fights to keep his lips closed. The demon smiles like a cat that’s gotten the cream as she pulls away from Dean and vanishes in a puff of acrid smoke. 

 

Maybe he is fucking crazy. Demons and hell aren’t real, not any more than heaven and angels are, and he should’ve stayed on the damn medication like his Dad and the doctors wanted him to because there’s no way that just happened. Except, when he gets back to the hospital, Dad comes running up with tears on his face, nearly knocking Dean over as he tries to hug him. 

 

Dean escapes his father’s hold to push past him, the nurses, and the doctor to get into his brother’s room. His eyes blur as they fill with tears, and he doesn’t even struggle as he’s dragged back out.

 

Sam’s awake. 

 

* * *

 

For a nerdy, quiet guy, Cas can sure throw a punch. He slugs Dean, knocking him to the ground, then hauls him back onto his feet and slams him against the wall. There’s no one in this darkened alley to see, so Dean just takes his lumps, a bit too stunned and weary to really fight back.

 

“I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU. YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL, WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?” Cas roars. His fury now makes their last argument seem like a schoolyard squabble, eyes so cold they almost seem like they’re glowing in the dark. Dean flinches when he’s yanked forward and slammed against the wall again, head striking the rough bricks behind him. “How long did they give you, Dean? Did you even ask? Do you even  _ care _ ?” 

 

“Of course I fucking care!” Dean shoves his friend back at last, panting with pain and anger. “Of course I care, but it doesn’t matter. It’s done. It’s done and Sam gets to live and I get to go to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, right to the fiery fucking pit, okay? It’s not like I had a goddamned choice, Cas.” 

 

“You did. You did have a choice, Dean-” 

 

“What kind of choice? To watch my little brother die? Watch everything he’s worked for, everything  _ we’ve _ worked for go to waste because of some fucking drunk? Huh? Or was I supposed to pray to  _ God _ -” 

 

Cas clocks him one last time. Dean feels blood spill into his mouth and he stumbles back against the wall, hand flying up this face to try to staunch the flow. Cas is gone by the time Dean gets his bearings back, alley empty and quiet but for the half-sob he manages to bite back. Dean sneaks through the entryway and is able to find a bathroom on the lower floor of the hospital so he can wash the blood off his face before anyone sees him.

 

When he gets back upstairs to Sam’s room, Dad is slumped in the hospital chair next to Sam’s bed, snoring lightly. Sammy’s watching him sleep, face solemn and tired. Some of the medical equipment has been moved out of the room, leaving only the IV and heart rate monitors behind. Dean never thought he’d be so glad to hear the rhythmic beeping that represents Sam’s heartbeat. 

 

“Hey, kiddo.” 

 

“Dean.” Sam reaches out for him, gripping Dean’s hands tight when he gets close enough. “They - they said I could’ve died. That I  _ should _ be dead, like Jess and Brady-” The rest of Sam’s words get muffled as Dean presses closer, tucking his brother’s face against his torso and petting through tangled locks of hair. He can feel the damp patch where Sam’s tears are soaking into his tee, but Dean doesn’t care. 

 

Sam is alive, and that’s all that matters. 

 

* * *

 

Keeping the secret is hard. Dean pretends every day like his days aren’t numbered, that there isn’t a timer somewhere counting down the minutes til a demon comes to drag his soul to hell. He works himself to the bone, doing his best to help Dad with the business and the house. 

 

Sam had stayed with them for a while, until the doctors pronounced him healed and Dean and his therapist convinced him going back to school would help. He’d slipped into depression pretty quickly, distraught at losing his friends, and it hurt something inside Dean every time he looked at the bottle of pills on the counter. He still hadn’t managed to spare his little brother this suffering, the pain of losing loved ones that Sam wasn’t familiar with; he’d been too young to remember Mom, and didn’t have any memories to make it hurt as bad. 

 

Dean calls Sam twice a week now that the kid is back at school, using the ruse of worried big brother to cover his tracks. It helps the panic in his chest, hearing his little brother’s voice. Sam sounds a little better every day, settling back into the routine of class and studying and work. Dean hopes it’ll be enough to hold him together when Dean’s gone as well. 

 

It’s harder without Cas. He hasn’t come back since their fight in the alley, no matter how much Dean begs. He calls it quits when Dad gives him a funny look at breakfast, and Dean realizes he must’ve heard him pleading with his . . . boyfriend to come back. Sleep doesn’t come easy without Cas’ warm weight behind him and strong arms wrapped around his waist.

 

Dean’s never been this isolated in his life, and he spends the entire year that way. Yeah, a year. One single, stinking year when the rumors said you’d at least get ten. He’d had to sneak back out to that crossroads and summon the demon, who was more than happy to read him his death sentence, glee written all over it’s stupid, stinking face. Hearing it was like a punch to the gut, but closing his eyes and seeing Sam deathly pale and still in that hospital bed, he knows it’s worth it. 

 

Sometimes he thinks about spilling the truth, confessing his idiocy to Sam or Dad or anybody who will listen if it means getting the God-awful dread hanging over him to lessen, even if it’s just for a moment. But Dean doesn’t want to spend his last year in doctors’ offices or locked up a psych ward because he was dumb enough to try to convince someone that demons are real, and that for the price of your soul, you could ask for just about anything. 

 

The year anniversary of Sam’s accident looms closer with every weekend that passes, every holiday and birthday until Dean is literally staring death in the face. He’s started seeing things - really, actually seeing things that aren’t there. Hideous dogs that bark and howl when he’s trying to sleep, making him jumpy and wild-eyed. People’s faces distort into monstrous masks until every person he sees looks like something dragged out of a nightmare. 

 

In the end, he drives himself out to the middle of nowhere in the beater truck Dad uses for hauling used oil. He tries to sleep, but the sounds of the dogs won’t let him. His wristwatch ticks closer and closer to midnight, until the howls sound like they’re right outside the cab. With an ungodly shriek, the door gets torn off and Dean finds himself being yanked out of the truck by his feet, screaming as sharp teeth sink into his ankles. 

 

He never thought it would be so painful to die, but having your chest ripped open and your soul torn out by hellhounds is something he’d wish on no one.

 

* * *

 

The next thing Dean knows is dark. Dark and dirty and musty and, Jesus, it smells like a fucking corpse in here. He digs around, relieved to find his favorite zippo is still in his pocket. It takes a few flicks to get it open and lit, and Dean almost regrets it when the flame finally takes hold. 

 

He’s in a coffin. That much is clear. Blue satin shines above him, and there’s the plastic of a CD case digging into his ribs. 

 

_ Holy shit. I actually died. _ Those are the only words to flit across his mind before panic sets in. He’s in a fucking coffin, buried under dirt. He’s going to run out of air, especially with the lighter on, but being in the dark is so much worse when he flips the lid shut. Dean tries to shove at the top of his casket, but he’s six feet under and there’s no way in hell he can get it to budge, even if he were to assume it’s unlocked.  _ What sick motherfucker brought me back so I could die in my own damn coffin? _

 

Dean’s trying to reason with himself, to think his way out of his situation when rhythmic thumps start making their way to his ears. Someone is digging. Against all odds, someone is digging him out. Dean attempts to breathe shallow, wanting to last and mentally urging whoever it is to dig faster. The thumps come steadily closer, but he’s starting to see spots before the coffin is yanked open. Dirt and fresh air rain down on him, and the rush of oxygen almost makes Dean dizzy.

 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Dad. Dad’s voice, Dad’s disbelieving face above him, Dad’s hands reaching toward him, and Dean instinctively reaches back. 

 

Strong arms are yanking him up and out of the coffin, pulling him into a hug so tight he has trouble getting back the air he’s already lost. “Dad. Ow.” Dad lets him go only for Sam to snatch him up, hauling him out of the grave and into his little brother’s arms. Thankfully, the younger Winchester is gentler, holding Dean close as he pants for breath. 

 

“Tell me I’m nuts. Tell me I’m fucking dreaming and you two did not just dig me out of my own grave.” Dean looks from his father to his brother and back, but both of them look to be just as much in shock as he is. “How. How did you -” 

 

“This guy showed up at our house,” Sam says softly. “He said you were coming back, that he was bringing you back, and we had to get you out of there before you suffocated. We- we almost didn’t believe him but here you are and -” 

 

“Guy? What guy?” 

 

Sam shifts aside, and points toward the end of the row, where another man waits. Dean doesn’t need the light recognize him, just the deep voice that reaches him from across the graveyard. 

 

“Hello, Dean.” 


End file.
